


There Are Some Things You Can Only Say to the Guy Who Broke You Out of An Alien Floaty-Tube-Thing

by TheElusiveOllie



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: Alien Abduction, Friendship, Gen, Insomnia, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:23:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1561286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheElusiveOllie/pseuds/TheElusiveOllie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And “by the way, thanks,” might happen to be one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Are Some Things You Can Only Say to the Guy Who Broke You Out of An Alien Floaty-Tube-Thing

He doesn’t like water. You pick up on that pretty quick. You can’t really stand the look or sound or feel of the stuff either, not since, well, _that time._ Still, you resign yourself to having to deal with it because there isn’t a great deal of alternative options on _Destiny._  For the first time, you’re intensely grateful that the shower systems don’t involve the use of liquid water.

And yet, you can’t help but notice.

Water.

He _loathes_ it.

It’s always difficult to catch him in the mess (or anywhere that isn’t the console interface room, really) but now he becomes an even harder to findl. He’s short-tempered with most everyone who dares to speak with him…well, more short-tempered than usual, as he used to be able to put up with Young for at least a whole five minutes before snapping out with some sarcastic, pointed remark.

Maybe it’s weird that you’ve started picking up on these kinds of things, like how withdrawn and quiet and contemplative he’s gotten. He’s always been the type to shut himself up in work and numbers and lines of code but lately it doesn’t seem to be _work_ so much as just…movement. Staring.

Disconnect.

And no matter how many times you wake up to the sounds of Scott reassuring you that it’ll all be okay, it was just a dream, you’re safe now, Chloe, _really,_ you still end up walking listlessly through _Destiny_ 's corridors night after night until your pathway inevitably takes you to the mess. And there the both of you sit, wordless and introspective, grappling to find some sort of meaning in the nights of shared silences but ultimately coming up with little more closure than the occasional murmur of, “the same dream?”

The longer you watch him the more obvious his discomfort and _disconnect_ with everything around him becomes. He snarls at Eli for not catching a minor hiccup in the FTL drive systems, nearly comes to blows with Young five separate occasions in one week, practically bites TJ’s head off at the tentative suggestion of a closer medical examination to see exactly what the aliens _did_ to him.

(At least you understand the last one. You refused the medical examination as well. You want to reclaim some feeling of privacy before allowing that level of proximity again.)

((Scott complains loudly at this.))

One night you find him in the console interface room instead of the mess. Your walks always take you through there, and you’re a little surprised to see him awake and fiddling with one of the dials.

"No sleep?"

He jumps at the sound of your voice. The cold blue light of the console throws his face, exhausted and frustrated and undernourished, into sharp relief.

He recovers somewhat and gives you a weary nod.

"Yeah."

"Me neither."

You move hesitantly to the console beside his.

"The dream again?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He scrubs one hand over his eyes, then passes it through his hair. You can tell he hasn’t slept, though whether that’s due to pressing work or fear of his own nightmares you can’t really say. You have a sneaking suspicion it might be the latter.

"You should really get some sleep," you begin cautiously. His head snaps up to glare at you, so you let the thought drop.

"Hypocrite," he grumbles, but you know you caught the faintest twitch of a smile as he said it.

"Well, come on," you try again. "What else are you gonna do at this hour?"

Shrug. You try a different tactic.

"Have you been drinking enough water?"

"Please." The brittle edge to his voice is back, along with fresh flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "I have Johansen dogging my footsteps all hours of the day while I’m trying to work; I don’t need you joining in."

"I’m just, I – " _Damn_ Rush and his inability to open up to anyone, even the _one_ person who might have an inkling as to what he’s going through. “I’ve been having problems with that, too. That’s all.”

"With what?"

"Water." The scientist flinches at the word.

"What about it?" He recovers semi-gracefully, but the tautness in his shoulders as he resumes punching buttons betrays him.

"I can’t look at it. I can’t – I can’t even _think_ about it. It just…reminds me.”

Rush stills.

"You understand?"

He gives a short, barely perceptible nod. Transfers his gaze from the console to the floor and back again. Fidgets, unable to keep still.

"Yeah," he says finally. He doesn’t look at you. "Yeah. I know."

But of course he didn’t tell anyone, and even you practically had to drag it out of him. You consider letting the whole thing go for tonight – after all, this discussion has already involved more words than the two of you usually exchange in a week. But all the same, these sorts of thoughts nag at you, and there’s one more thing you want to put to rest before returning to fitful, nightmare-filled sleep.

"Why did you do it?"

"Mm?" He still doesn’t look up, preferring to trace his fingers around the console buttons. You have no idea how this man’s mind works, what kind of strategy and logic it follows, or why he does half the things he does. The fact that he’s now joined the (admittedly very short) list of people on this ship you feel you can trust should be downright unnerving. _Nobody_ trusts Rush, and even you have to concede this is for a very good reason. You can’t help but wonder if the man even trusts himself.

You press bravely forward regardless.

"Why’d you get me off the ship?"

The question pulls him out of his distracted haze and back to you.

"What do you mean?"

He’s stalling. Of _course_ he is. You might not know the man too well, but this time the tactic is painfully obvious. Does he not quite know how to answer the question either, you wonder?

"You could have left me there. There wouldn’t have been any consequences. You couldn’t have known if you would have time to get us both off but you still did."

_So, why?_

You wait for the answer, but it never comes. Instead Rush snorts softly as he returns to prodding moodily at the console.

"Go to sleep, Miss Armstrong."

He’s dropped the use of your first name, which in Rush-speak means this conversation may as well be over. At least, you’re pretty sure that’s what it means. Colonel Young has a few things right about the man, the first and foremost being that you can never be quite sure about him. So far you’re finding that to be lamentably, frustratingly true.

You recognize the dismissal and begin walking out of the console room before turning back. You’re not quite done.

"I was just, uh. I don’t think I really thanked you."

"Thanked me?" Rush sounds positively puzzled.

"For getting me off the ship?"

The scientist just stares at you as if he doesn’t quite know what to make of your words, wrong-footed.

You try again: “Thanks.”

This time he manages another nod, but he still looks confused.

You leave the scientist to his work (or his insomnia, or his fear or suspicion or whatever else is keeping him awake at this hour), marveling at his marked lack of social aptitude. For all of Rush’s massive intellect and his ego when it comes to matters of hard science, the man’s understanding of people falls woefully short in comparison. Perhaps it’s just one of the side effects of constant mutual mistrust between him and the rest of the crew, but you find the fact that he doesn’t seem to be able to recognize an honest expression of gratitude, well…rather sad.

You return to your quarters. Scott, who briefly woke as you did, has nodded off again. You join him but your mind lingers in the console interface room with Rush. Not sleeping or eating properly, not drinking enough water, his only coping mechanism requiring him to immerse himself in equations scribbled in a bizarre jumble of complicated numbers and symbols and Ancient.

It’s unhealthy and it’s lonely and the situation is probably just as bad for half the people on this ship.

But maybe you feel, oddly enough, _closer_ to Rush.

(Ironic that right now you feel closer to, of all the people on the ship, the one that is most alone and untrusted, when you yourself have had no trouble surrounding yourself in friends.)

(Is “ironic” the right word for it? Or is it just sad?)

Regardless, there are some things that you feel you really needed to tell the guy who risked his neck to get you out of a weird alien floaty-tube-thing.

An awkward “thank you” was one of them.

 


End file.
